Magic Fingers
by Technica
Summary: Every spell needs to start somewhere, who would be better to work the kinks out with than a close friend?  F!Hawke/Isabela


**AN:** With Legacy coming out any day now I dusted off my game and remembered all the half finished writing I had yet to do anything with. This isn't the same Hawke as the one from Tavern Talk, but I am going to continue his story, I just seem to be writing the end before the beginning. This story is just my subconscious disjointedly trying to explain my new-Hawke's choices to myself. When I created her I had some specific things in mind, she would be equal parts abrasive and irreverent, too intelligent for her own good, a control freak, the Thedas equivalent to a science geek and spend her free time trying to flirt broody elves into reacting. Isabela sidled into the scene and of course the plan got muddled.

Also obviously this universe and it's characters aren't mine, I just like making them squirm.

Comments and Suggestions are appreciated, when you live off as little sleep as I do, you never quite realise when you've started talking gibberish. I may cut or add bits if I remain dissatisfied with how this reads.

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><p>There were far worse ways to regain consciousness than entangled between bedsheets and the arms of a lover. In fact from all her experiences with waking up in unexpected places, Isabela quickly decided that Hawke's bed was infinitely preferable, especially with the Lady of the estate still hot and breathless beneath her.<p>

It was almost embarrassing how completely spent she felt. Really, blacking out because of sex? It was like something out of Varric's stories. Still, every nerve in her body was trembling, bordering on pleasantly numb.

The thought of even trying to move brought a soft groan to her lips and she ducked her head down to bury her face deeper in the covers.

She felt more than heard Hawke's soft laughter; the smaller woman's body moving against her own as she stretched out as much as she could from her position underneath the pirate, her warm breath ghosting against the pirate's ear.

"So you're awake now?" Hawke teased, her voice already losing that properly shagged breathlessness and resuming it's usual mocking lilt. "For a moment there I thought I'd given you a bit too much."

Suspicious, Isabela tested her memory; pressing through the haze to work out what diabolically fantastic thing the mage could possibly have done to make her lose consciousness.

She'd broken into Hawke's home with the hope of catching her in some questionable – potentially blackmail-able – position and had instead found the Ferelden intently reading one of those bafflingly dull tomes, looking so incredibly studious it made the pirate cringe. Not one to let her friend suffer in such an excruciating way Isabela had done the only right thing for the situation and thrown the woman up against the wall, or had it been the desk? She really did like that desk, all the fond memories. Ah well, the point was she'd provided them both with an excellent distraction.

Which is where her memory just got fun. Hawke would never let anyone get the upper-hand on her for anything, the idea of the Ferelden mage just sitting back and taking it was simply an unthinkably un-Hawkish notion. A fact that made these encounters an even more interesting diversion, everyone knew Isabela always came out on top, but with Hawke she damn well needed to work to keep it that way.

For all of their _duels, _neither woman particularly liked the idea of the other besting her, every loss and, for that matter, every draw between them, just tended to make the supposed loser all the more determined to win the next one, matters tended to escalate, perhaps to somewhat ridiculous levels.

She could recall the sense of triumph, the knowledge that this round was most definitely going to her, she had Hawke writhing under her touch, the mage was flushed, her pale olive skin gleaming delectably in the low light, completely in the pirate's control.

She'd arched into her, lost somewhere between a low moan and a breathless gasp that Isabela knew so well, well enough that she had mentally chalked round one off to herself with a smug grin.

And then the damned woman's grey eyes had flashed with a look that Isabela had discovered quite early in their friendship to mean the mage had a trick up her sleeve.

Hawke's hand had traced a lazy path up along the sensitive skin of the pirate's inner thigh, her artful digits sparking tiny arcs of lightning, caressing the flesh with a tingling warmth that seemed to sink all the way into her bones.

She'd felt Hawke's lips twisting up into a smirk, nipping playfully at her throat as a warning before her talented fingers found their destination, curling upward and pressing in.

It was like every individual nerve in her body had exploded one after another; a chain reaction of spine-tingling pleasure bordering along pain running the length of her.

Isabela's body had bowed back as the lightning's current flashed through her, her muscles spasmed and her hands clenched; one twisting itself up in the sheets beneath them and the other digging into Hawke's hip.

What should have been a full on orgasmic scream had struggled to get past her suddenly taunt vocal cords, she'd simply gasped hoarsely, her entire body trembling as the edges of her vision began to darken.

And then like a puppet with it's strings cut, she'd collapsed, splayed boneless and barely concious across the mage beneath her.

Hawke's face had been just distinguishable through the blur; her eyes wide and dark with desire and her mouth still smiling that infuriatingly insolent, sexy grin.

The Rivaini had tried to say something smart-arse, something to lessen the self-satisfied aura that was already settling around the Ferelden.

She'd instead muttered something that no dialect on Thedas would recognise and then slipped into unconsciousness to the sound of Hawke's laughter.

_That smug bitch._

Hissing air in through her teeth as she forced her uncooperative body to roll onto her back, Isabela tilted her head around to glare half-heartedly at the woman that was watching her with amused interest.

"That." She muttered, "Was cheating."

Hawke didn't even try to look innocent, taking the time to run her gaze over the pirate's form before meeting her glare, the Champion of Kirkwall was the cat that ate the damned canary which meant Isabela was the canary! She wasn't going to let such a slur to her reputation go without a fight, just... maybe when she stopped tingling all over.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Isabela." Hawke all but purred, "But cheating implies a certain amount of rule breaking and I for one was unaware we had rules."

Feeling a little bit more like herself the Rivaini rolled her eyes and shifted to prop herself up against the pillows. "Rules, sweet thing, would take all the fun out of this. But that little trick you did?"

She shivered at the memory, for once not noticing the appreciative expression on the other woman's face. "Fantastically, mind-numbingly, glorious as it was...is such an incredible cheat. You can't just twitch your fingers and knock a girl off her feet like that, we could have been here for a few hours at least. Feeling like I am right now? I don't think I have another round in me."

"What?" Hawke asked with over-the-top concern, carefully placing a hand on the pirate's forehead as if checking for fever. "Could it be possible that Captain Isabela, Pirate Queen extraordinaire, is saying no to that idea of more sex? Are you sure you're feeling well?"

Snorting at the idiotic mage's antics, Isabela brushed the hand away and refused to give her the satisfaction of an answer, choosing instead to cast her eyes around the room to see what damage they'd done. The contents of Hawke's desk including the book she'd been reading were scattered across the floor, the chair upended with what looked to be one of Isabela's boots peeking out from under it. But other than that the only other signs of chaos were the various articles of clothing that they'd managed to get off each other before they'd become too distracted to bother.

All in all, if you didn't count sneaky magic powered orgasms, it was quite tame for their record. Especially since that one time when Hawke had reacted to one of Isabela's own tricks by accidentally igniting the curtains.

At the irritated huff from Hawke's direction, Isabela managed her own self-satisfied smirk, choosing to celebrate whatever victories she had, as the other woman discovered the state of disarray the pirate had left her hair in; the jet black locks escaping from their usually immaculate bun to flow down in loose tendrils brushing enticingly against her bare shoulders.

Slipping her feet off the bed, the Ferelden refugee padded softly across the room to retrieve the robe she habitually wore around her house, the sash tied loosely about her waist before she realised what was strange about the situation.

She turned – an incredibly rare expression of confusion on her features – and blinked a few times to affirm herself to the fact that Isabela was still lying on her bed, still naked if you didn't count the bedsheets that weren't really covering anything at all, perhaps they were keeping her feet warm.

"You're still in bed." She mumbled, mostly to herself, no doubt having difficulty processing the idea. "After proclaiming no further interest in sex, you are still in my bed, naked and I'm the one dressed and moving on?"

Isabela managed a defensive half-shrug – the tiny movement buzzing through her nerves in numbing aftershock – and hoped to Andraste's blessed tits she wasn't going to pass out again.

There were many less than charitable words you could use to describe Hawke, stupid wasn't one of them. She frowned, hip cocked to the side in a way that inadvertently bared a tempting amount of thigh through the gap in her robe, something that would usually have encouraged Isabela's fingers to wander. "You're still affected aren't you? Maker's ass Isabela, are you alright?"

She didn't even bother waiting for an answer, quickly closing the space between them, dropping to her knees and hovering her hands over the pirate's body.

Isabela felt a jolt run along between them, tiny little sparks leaping from her skin to curl about the mage's hands. Hawke flinched back briefly, wriggling her fingers as the electric show vanished into her own flesh.

She looked fascinated; eyebrows drawn in deep thought as she chewed her bottom lip absent-mindedly. She was going into scholar mode – some far off land where supposedly books broke the mysteries of the world and had perfectly logical _boring_ explanations. It was one of the few things that could actually distract Hawke enough that she stopped paying attention. Which was totally unfair because there was something just ridiculously sexy about the woman when she started acting this way, Hawke would start talking about principles of gravity and some new theory she'd read in a scroll and Isabela just wanted to pounce her.

It was the same impulse she got when she talked to chantry sisters, some desire to corrupt them, drag them back down to earth to things that did matter, things that could be touched and experienced.

Perverting intellectual and spiritual, it was a calling that apparently few others felt.

"This is fascinating." Hawke uttered softly, dipping her hands down to just over the Rivaini's navel, smirking as the miniature lightning once again darted out to meet her. "It tingles. Is that what you're feeling?"

"That's a word for it." Isabela muttered tiredly, and then sucked a startled breath in, her whole body trembling as Hawke's fingertips brushed inquisitively along the smooth skin of her stomach, it was like an echo of the first spell all over again, her fingers jerking reflexively around the rumpled bedsheets. "In fact, you could say I'm all aquiver with tingles."

Hawke's grey eyes darted up to meet the older woman's gaze and suddenly looked both ashamed and concerned all at once, slowly drawing her hands away to rest on the covers. "Good aquiver or bad?"

Isabela bared her teeth in something between a smile and a grimace as the effects dulled back down. "You know sweet thing, I can't quite decide. It's either torturously fantastic or exquisitely painful."

Hawke nodded, rising up to stride over to her desk and rifle through her books and scrolls muttering to herself all the while, it was almost amusing to see her huff in frustration and begin digging around in one of her dressers, carelessly tossing her things to the floor in a display of disorder that would usually have the woman fuming until finally she returned with a small vial of glowing blue lyrium and an old worn ring.

"Right." The Ferelden mage stated as she crawled up onto the bed beside her suspicious pirate lover, apparently ready to do something impressively magical, popping the seal from the lyrium potion and knocking it all back in one go much like Isabela did with whisky.

She tensed briefly, squinting as the liquid lyrium burned its way into her system and then nodded, slipping the ring onto the middle finger of her left hand and rolling over to straddle Isabela's thighs, wincing and mumbling out an apology as the Rivaini woman hissed at the contact.

Hawke's hands began to glow a wavering blue as she placed one over the other and then slowly pressed them down so Isabela could feel the cool metal of the ring against her skin.

"Is this supposed to do something?" She asked peevishly, and then all a sudden she felt a lurching sensation as if she'd been pushed forwards. The chaotic buzzing that had been driving her mad began to shift into an almost orderly pull, drawing slowly to focus in the flesh below the mage's hand.

Before their eyes, the little flickers of lightning began to snake around Hawke's joined hands and Isabela realised that the taunting tingling sensation had vanished leaving little more than a deep ache to her muscles.

Raising her hands up and away from the pirate, Hawke continued murmuring in that nonsense language mage's occasionally used, a language more about concentration and intent than actual words, her grey eyes flashed almost silver in the lightning's glow and then with a sharp gesture she clenched her fist and the electricity vanished into the ring.

"There. I think I may have just managed my first ever enchantment." She exclaimed triumphantly, slipping the ring from her finger to place it carefully on her bedside-table, it was only then – probably only because she'd noticed Isabela's less than amused expression – that she added. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Every blasted inch of me aches like I spent the night with a troupe of Antivan gymnasts." The pirate queen ground out, letting her eyelids droop as she tried to sink back into the soft feather mattress. "You owe me."

Hawke didn't reply, but she felt the younger woman tense, incensed at the idea of owing anyone anything. The silence continued for a few more heartbeats, then the weight on the mattress shifted, warm hands pulled her right foot up to rest in Hawke's lap and the mage began to work fine amounts of healing magic into her aching tendons.

Isabela's eyes flashed open in surprise, taking in the sight of the Champion of Kirkwall giving her a foot massage with glowing hands, she chuckled lazily, preparing to say something flippant but instead moaned in delight as the Ferelden's thumbs dug into a particularly tense point and pulsed out warm magic.

"You're right," Hawke tilted her head up slightly to peer at her through her dark fringe, the faintest smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. "I guess I do owe you something."

* * *

><p>She was in paradise.<p>

A deep sense of languid contentment filling her to the point where she felt she might just start purring into the pillows at any moment.

Hawke's idea of 'something' was a full body massage that was leaving Isabela in the definitely good kind of aquiver. She groaned out in satisfaction as the mage began to work at a taunt knot between the pirate's shoulder blades.

"Ok." She mumbled lazily, "I know your brilliant mind is just begging to explain what happened. As long as you don't stop exactly what you're doing now, I'll pretend to care."

Hawke laughed, her fingernails scraping teasingly down Isabela's spine before resuming their previous action.

"It was a very very low strength lightning spell that I adjusted so it was both harmless and only conductive to flesh, well it was supposed to be harmless." Hawke amended at the indignant noise from Isabela, "It would have been fine but it didn't die out like it was meant to. I'd read in this interesting book about this theory on how bodies work that the energy found in lightning could occasionally-"

At this point Isabela stopped listening, preferring to let her mind wander to more interesting topics, nodding or making a noise of affirmation when it seemed appropriate. She knew Hawke well enough that sometimes the woman's ego just demanded she told people all these useless ideas even if there was no chance they'd understand or even really care.

Mind-shatteringly boring perhaps, but as long as she kept that magnificent magic massage going somehow it seemed more endearing.

"Anyway," the Ferelden winded down, probably realising she'd lost her audience long ago, "You may have guessed that it was my adaptation of Anders' lightning trick, or as close to it as I could get going from purely hearing about it. I've just been waiting for someone to test it out on."

"So, you decided it was alright to try out untested magic on me?"

"Even if I indulged in your proclivities it's not a good idea to be known as an apostate that experiments magic on strangers, Meredith hates me enough. Who else would I ask?"

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you." Isabela quipped, "When exactly did you ask if you could experiment on me? I don't really recall you stringing anything close to that sentence together."

The fantastic hands stopped, simply resting on her shoulder-blades as the mage laughed, a low amused chuckle. "I suppose I didn't see the point in asking when I already knew the answer, but if it's so important to you."

Hawke's hand's slid up to curve around the older woman's shoulders, shifting her weight so she could bring her mouth to the pirate's ear, intentionally brushing her lips against the sensitive skin. "Isabela," she breathed, her voice going soft and husky enough that the pirate considered rolling them both over and taking the champion on the floor, "I've thought up this unbearably kinky spell that is just begging to be used. Do you think you'd mind awfully much if I used you?"

Sensing Isabela's shift in mood, Hawke laughed again, moving back to her previous position and resuming her massage. "Don't even pretend you wouldn't have agreed to that."

Isabela nodded distractedly, trying her hardest not to sigh in contentment as Hawke began to work on her shoulders. "Oh that very moment for certain but you could have asked Anders for a lesson first. I'm sure he would have leapt at the chance to show you it first hand."

The group's rebel mage had never quite managed to hide his obvious attraction to the Champion, much to the woman's irritation and Isabela's amusement.

Hawke made some sort of derisive sound in the back of her throat, "Right, because that's exactly what I need another broody stupid man in my life."

Swivelling her head slightly so she could peer over her shoulder to see the other woman, Isabela pursed her lips thoughtfully as she took in her friend's carefully blank expression and faraway eyes. That statement had come surprisingly close to the forbidden topic of a certain elf.

The pirate had never quite gotten the whole story of what had happened between the snarky mage and brooding elf. If she asked one of them she'd get vicious snarling insults or the occasional hurled bottle of wine and asking the other would just result in dark glowers and cold shoulders.

What she had heard had come from a very drunk Hawke, too drunk to make it back home without Isabela's help, mostly drunkHawke had rambled bitterly about stupid elves not knowing what they wanted, making her life more complicated than necessary, Isabela's favourite part had been when she'd started talking about lickable lyrium tattoos.

Isabela would have questioned her further but Hawke had spun unsteadily on the spot, grasping at the pirate, pulling her into a searing kiss of equal parts anger and frustration, pushing her back against a wall in some Hightown alley.

Who would ask about anything when that was happening?

"He wasn't always so broody." Isabela offered, drawing herself back from her memories. "When I first met him he was much more fun. I blame that spirit squatting in his head, if I had some ridiculous voice telling me not to do things I'd probably be just as messed up."

"Isabela, most people have that voice, it's called a conscience." Hawke teased, winking down at the pirate when she caught her glare, "but still if it wasn't for Varric I'd think it was something about me that made angsty bastards hang about."

"Mmm Varric, is quite the exception. But still there can be something to be said for the broody ones, they tend to be marvellously intense when you get their clothes off."

Humming in distracted affirmation, the magic around Hawke's hands dimmed and she leant back, staring into space, remembering some other time with some other person.

Smirking to herself, Isabela twisted her revitalised body around to face her distracted lover, sitting up so the woman ended up straddling her hips, sneaky pirate hands preoccupying themselves with skimming under the mage's short skirt. "And from my vast experience with you, I'd bet sovereign to a copper, you like it intense."

Hawke's eyebrows drew down in a wary scowl, sensing the topic before it had even been broached.

"I think we should have a nice long talk," Isabela continued unperturbed, laughing as she pushed the woman back until their positions were reversed, Isabela in her rightful place on top and Hawke glaring up at her from the twisted sheets. "about Fenris."

It was amazing how a simple name could make Hawke's eyes glint with dark bloody murder.

"Oh come on pet, I want you to tell me about him. Tell me did he smoulder? I want to hear all about his taut lanky body and what he can do with it." the Pirate Queen teased, letting her nails scrape lightly along the mage's thighs.

Whatever biting comment Hawke had been about to say died out into a angry hiss of pleasure.

Isabela leant in to whisper directly into the mage's ear, nipping at it for good measure. "Tell me all about his fascinating markings, how far they go and how much you want to run your tongue all-."

Hawke's patience snapped, her head whipping violently to the side and hand reaching up to jerk the pirate's mouth to her own, all caught up in desperate furious lust.

Up in Isabela's head she laughed, this round was definitely going to be hers.

* * *

><p>Much much later, Isabela finished tugging on her boots, humming pleasantly to herself as she rose from the edge of the bed and cast a fond look over the sleeping body of her closest, dearest friend and sometime lover.<p>

In sleep the Ferelden refugee lost the aura of sharp disdain she usually wore about her like a cloak, she looked almost fragile, worn out from sex and magic, slim arms wrapped unconsciously around one of her pillows.

The woman was a terror: she could be cruel, abrupt and sometimes downright vicious with her sarcasm but she also made Isabela laugh, she'd always watched her back like she'd originally promised and she'd never turned the pirate away no matter how many times she'd had good reason to.

Isabela could feel change coming, feel it like a summer storm. All this trouble with the Templars and Mages was going to end in chaos and drag them all down with it.

And Isabela would be there, following Hawke's lead and bargaining with an uncaring Maker that they make it out alive but she knew she wasn't what the Champion needed. Andraste's lopsided ass-cheeks, she didn't think she could have been what Hawke needed even if they both tried... but she honestly did want the best for her friend.

Striding around to the side of the bed, Isabela sighed, reaching down to gently pull the sheets over the sleeping mage. Maybe it was time she had a talk with a certain elf about the dangers of being a complete and utter idiot.

It would be tragic to lose such a creative play-thing to someone else, but maybe if she was really lucky she might get to join in every now and then. She was sure Hawke would be more than amiable about the idea.

_Still_, she thought, reaching out to pick up the plain looking ring on the bedside-table, slipping it on her finger and laughing quietly to herself as it sent faint shivery tingles through her. _Until then I'll just have to settle with keeping souvenirs. _


End file.
